It is a bittersweet anniversary for some: the Sir Winston Churchill Pub celebrates its 50th birthday this year, but, sadly, those habitués who made this Crescent St. complex a local landmark have long since passed on.

Front-row seats at the bar presided over by Margo MacGillivray were near impossible to land 20 years back. That’s because the stools were most frequently occupied by the likes of Nick Auf der Maur, Mordecai Richler and his friend/sparring partner Richard Holden, the latter’s former political comrade-turned-foil Gordon Atkinson, and radio icons George Balcan and Ted Blackman, among other local luminaries. These patrons served as a lively barometer for what was going on in the city, province, country and world. Opinions were rarely tempered and always colourful – roughly proportional to the amount of booze consumed.

There was nothing like it on the anglo bar front in town. Lunches turned into happy hours into dinners into late nights.

Some of us can still recall boulevardier/politician/journo Auf der Maur, vodka and cranberry in one hand and pen in the other, scribbling a Montreal Gazette city column on a cocktail napkin and, amid the din of the bar, calling it in and dictating it to a none-too-thrilled editor. Or author/political pundit Richler and Holden going at it, after the latter left the Equality Party to join the Parti Québécois. Or Atkinson, who remained true to the Equality cause, actually challenging Holden to a duel. Or Blackman setting new land-speed records for consumption of rum-and-Cokes before hitting the airwaves.

OK, not exactly lifestyles suited to longevity — which might explain why they are no longer with us. But there was a spirit among this rogue’s gallery that brought much-needed fire to the city scene and that is rarely in evidence these days. Nor is Crescent St. the haven it once was, long since replaced by the action to the south and east of it.

About the only reminder of the pub’s past is Auf der Maur’s cherished Borsalino chapeau encased over the bar stool he once occupied. And, of course, the Ruelle Nick-Auf-der-Maur outside. Yet, if one were to plant oneself at one of the complex’s bars and close one’s eyes for a minute, the controlled chaos of it all comes rushing back.

The inimitable Johnny Vago, an economic adviser to the government of Fidel Castro in 1959-1960 and friend of Cuban revolutionary hero Che Guevara, founded the Sir Winston Churchill Pub. Tagged the “Father of Crescent St.” (but not in the priestly sense), and also the founder of the now-defunct Boiler Room, Don Juan’s and Casa Pedro (ask your parents), Vago, 93, – though no longer an owner – still drops by the pub for lunch.

Apart from the more famed regulars, the bar complex also served – and continues to do so – as a place for all manner of mortals to launch careers, marriages, divorces and, yes, liver conditions.

“I remember like it was almost yesterday. Nick decided we should all move from Grumpy’s to here and like the latter-day Moses he sort of was, we followed him,” says former CBC producer and Auf der Maur crony Stephen Phizicky, over a beer at the bar. “The rest is history — and some hysteria.”

Auf der Maur was actually following his bartender of choice, MacGillivray, from Grumpy’s. She was the glue that kept this eccentric circle together and spent 37 years as mixologist/shrink at the pub. Though she officially retired a few years ago, she still shows up for the occasional Friday shift for old times’ sake.

Last week, MacGillivary, a former Miss Montreal Alouette who has also belted out the national anthem at football games at Molson Stadium, finished a homeless-outreach shift at St. Patrick’s Basilica in time to hook up with some old acquaintances at the pub.

“The fun of working behind that bar was that everyday was different — new stories, new dramas, occasionally new faces. And laughing — I laughed every day,” says MacGillivray, over a glass of white wine on the other side of the bar. “I looked forward to going to work every day.”

Phizicky, too, was left endlessly amused and informed by proceedings. “I’d meet Nick for lunch and there were five others meeting him as well — reporters from the London Times, New York Times or Norway Times who would check in with him to get an idea of what was going on in town, often relating to the overspending woes of the Big O.

“Nick would often be here from noon to 3,” Phizicky adds. “That’s noon to 3 a.m.!”

John Aylen, PR maven and close buddy of Richler, recalls Auf der Maur showing up at 10 in the morning for a

press conference for Richler’s Prix Parizeau literary award. “I don’t remember the results of the press conference, but I do remember Nick drinking sangrias, which he thought to be a fine breakfast libation — because it contained some oranges.”

“The trick for me was to remember the favourite drinks of the regulars and to remember who they would want to sit beside and who they didn’t want to sit beside,” MacGillivray interjects. “There were so many other characters who stopped by, too: John Lynch-Staunton, Egan Chambers, Kevin Drummond, Michel Sarrazin, Julian De Salis, Irwin Steinberg, Renée Hunnicutt, the classy lady who was one of the guys — and they are mostly all gone, except for Phizicky, who never really drank much or smoked and started marathon cycling.

“Of course, there were those less amused with these characters and they would refer to my bar as Jurassic Park,” a grinning MacGillivray chimes.

“Yet there was still a lineup of five and six rows deep to get a drink at Margo’s bar,” says pub co-owner Jan Wilson, who has worked here for 35 years. “Those days were golden, because there wasn’t the stiff competition there is today. But we’ve adapted to the times and offer live entertainment, and we have another group of regulars today.”

Wilson has planned a series of events to commemorate the pub’s 50th anniversary: everything from alumni bartender soirées to theme parties dedicated to each of the five decades of operation to the finale event on Nov. 30, which happens to mark the birthday of club namesake/inspiration, Sir Winston Churchill.

MacGillivray also plans to pay homage of sorts. She once pledged to Richler that she would write her own personal account of the place: My Life Behind Bars.

“How appropriate a title, too,” she says. “I’ve served a life sentence here – with no chance of parole.”